Professional Documents
Culture Documents
vol. 3
1
2
Querido Felipe, ante tu propuesta de corregir un poema inexistente, te envié un
poema visual, que tenía entre otras cosas hacerse cargo de la premisa que el
poema no existe. Incluir correcciones antes un poema que no existe se tornaba
para mí una tarea imposible, pues esas correcciones terminarían siendo el poema,
por tanto la premisa se vería arrasada en su naturaleza. Por esto el signo
matemático del poema visual que te envié y por eso además su franja roja que
sería una “corrección” sin afectar su no existencia.
Pero dado que hubo otro mail, donde señalas que se trata de imaginar un poema
que no existe y corregirlo, la situación me lleva a forzar una respuesta, pues sigo
pensando que la mejor respuesta posible para mí fue el poema visual.
4
El poeta Felipe Cussen me invitó a mejorar un poema mediante correcciones, supresiones,
etc, pero el poema no existe.
Yo no tengo nada que corregir, suprimir ni mejorar. Yo ni nadie. Felipe Cussen es EL poeta
mayor porque creó el poema perfecto. Pero para entender por qué digo esto, tengo que
explicar algunas cosas antes, cosas como por ejemplo: el origen del arte y su desarrollo hasta
nuestros días. Pero eso es muy largo y además no sé mucho, así que voy a resumir la idea
con un poema malo que Felipe Cussen debería corregir (él puede hacerlo yo no):
Primero fueron las cosas/ después fueron las representaciones de las cosas, por ejemplo un
león en la cueva de Altamira o Chauvet, pero el león afuera mataba de verdad/ Pasaron
muchos años: los griegos, Cristo, la edad media, las guerras mundiales/ las abstracciones,
deconstrucciones, etc./ Luego llegó el video juego que superó la realidad/ el león afuera ya
no mataba/ Y ahora/ escuchen bien/ ahora viene Felipe Cussen -el genio- y elimina la
realidad: el poema/ solo queda la representación/ Un eco/ El poema zen/ El vacío/ La
iluminación.
5
No tengo objeciones a tu poema "inexistente", tampoco elogios.
Casi no tengo nada que decir, citando inexactamente uno de tus
trabajos. Agrego el "casi" no solo porque "nada que decir" equivale
obviamente a decir algo, sino porque, en esa misma línea
argumental, tu solicitud de comentarios de un poema no realizado
brinda igualmente una presencia, que se instala en el mismo
lenguaje que esquiva, como un silencio proclamado o algo así. Si te
digo algo es porque ya existe algo. Solo agregaría, Felipe, que
cuando realices un nuevo poema y pidas mi opinión, es posible que
responda algo similar pues, técnicamente hablando, sé poco y nada
de poesía.
6
En general me parece que el poema todavía duda
demasiado de sí, y que se refugia innecesariamente
en el formato email. Cuando dices, "el poema no
existe", es el poema el que permite entender esa
negación. Algunos tal vez se dejen llevar por esas
cuatro palabras, aconsejándote todo tipo de cosas.
Mi recomendación: no hacerles caso, pues no son sino
proyecciones (si te reconoces en ellas, cambia la
cosa). En resumen: todo lo que tienda a disminuir la
cercanía al formato email, y que avance hacia la
negación del poema - solo legible en el poema, eso.
7
Your non-existent poem vibrates with universal everything and
nothingness—unusual to craft such a spectrum within the (non)space of
any text.
For a future iteration, consider the roles of materiality and breath in your
text. When a poet states that his poem doesn't exist, doesn't the poem
exist despite this, through the thought of its non-existence? I think of a
poem when I am told to think of a non-existent poem, and that non-
existent poem already manifests for me as a blank page and in exhalation
before it passes my esophagus. In a future iteration, how could you craft
the introduction of the non-existent poem to remove even the notion of the
material on or in which it might be inscribed or intoned?
8
When
you
say
something
doesn't
exist
and
then
you
attempt
a
dialog,
are
you
not
contemplating
a
"religion
of
the
poem"?
And
isn't
this
a
rupture
or
differend
of
any
conceivable
"description"
-‐
as
if
"existence"
were
possible
to
describe?
It
is
not
-‐
and
"It
is
not"
is
clearly
the
aporia
in
the
chora.
You
then
write
about
"possible
lines"
but
all
lines
are
possible;
what
is
impossible
is
the
transformation
of
"existence
itself,"
of
which
you
might
have
written
a
non-‐existent
poem.
I
think
better
of
you.
9
Petit commentaire sur un poëme en train sous forme épistolaire à
l’attention de Felipe :
Cher Julien,
J’ai bien compris ce que tu désirais pour ce poëme en train de
s’écrire,
que tu voulais dans cette parenté entre
d’un coté la comète Chury et les 5 pistes d’aterrissage, J, B, I, A,
C.
et de l’autre le 8, ce chiffre qui serait comme l’infini (∞) debout...
Mais il faudrait dire et écrire sur toutes les autres possibilités de
ce 8
Comme le “et” qui s’écrit sous sa forme esperluette : &
Et le “ou” qui s’écrivait jadis dans les amériques comme un 8
ouvert sur le o du dessus
Le
8
ou
plutôt
ȣ
dans
l'alphabet
algonquin
est
u4lisée
pour
transcrire
le
son
[u]
et
a
une
valeur
phoné4que
équivalente
au
W
anglais
(exemple:
water)
10
Mais l’Ennégramme des 7 =
2 du plaisir (luxure & gourmandise) + 2 minables (lavarice
&envie) + 2 normaux bien qu’accidentels (colère & paresse) + 1
crétin (l’orgueil).
Le poëme commencerait donc
(si toutefois je ne change pas d’avis au cours de l’écriture)
par le compte à rebours de la structure de la personne humaine : 9
87654321
Soit :
« 9 &c.
Julien Blaine
Sept 2015
11
12
13
Editorial
advice
Dear
Felipe,
Thank
you
for
invi4ng
me
to
comment
on
such
an
interes4ng
project.
I
am
afraid
that
I
have
liRle
4me
at
present
but
shall
do
the
best
I
can.
I
have
read
the
text
as
well
as
I
can,
all
of
it,
including
that
which
I
do
not
really
understand.
Of
course,
I
am
limited
to
x
considerable
extent
because
of
the
dire
poverty
of
my
Spanish.
I
feel
that
as
a
great
limita4on
whilst
being
aware
of
the
widespread
belief
to
the
contrary.
(e.g.
Lack
of
comprehension
is
no
hindrance
to
asser=ng
understanding;
Z.
Obmyślanie,
2011)
I
want
to
make
it
clear
from
the
start
that
I
do
not
much
like
the
text
that
you
have,
apparently,
under
considera4on
for
publica4on;
and
I
am
more
than
grateful
that
you
have
not
named
the
author;
that
anonymity
makes
me
feel
beRer
about
making
what
may
be
harsh
comments.
It
is
the
number
of
worries
that
I
have
over
the
text
which
make
it
so
interes4ng:
the
number,
and
I
shall
not
list
them
all
by
any
means
if
only
to
avoid
repe44on,
and
the
breadth
of
my
concerns.
On
the
other
hand,
I
have
long
held
to
the
principle,
though
perhaps
it
is
just
a
belief,
that
one
should
avoid
much
harsh
cri4cism
and
start
from
where
the
writer
is
in
terms
of
writerly
development,
skill,
ambi4on
and
purposes.
That
is
good
pedagogy,
and
surely
cri4cism
should
be
pedagogical;
it
is,
too,
a
useful
fail-‐safe,
or
poten4ally
so,
to
avoid
condemning
the
truly
new
for
its
very
newness
x
because
one
does
not
recognise
it
as
such.
I
recall
the
late
Eric
MoRram
remarking
that
the
more
original
a
work
is
then
the
more
unrecognisable
it
may
be.
(First
Sub
Voicive
Colloquium,
London,
1990)
Those
are
not
his
exact
words
and
they
are
not,
I
think,
wriRen
down
anywhere.
It
was
a
response
to
something
someone
said
during
the
colloquium.
It
struck
me
at
the
4me
though
that
Eric
was
making
a
rather
important
point.
We
need
the
familiar
to
know
where
we
are
and
to
orient
ourselves;
yet
many
of
us
seek
the
unfamiliar
which
truly
innova4ve
wri4ng
must
be.
14
Thus
the
ar4st
who
would
be
popular
must
ensure
that
she
takes
her
readership
with
her.
Thinking
about
that
over
the
years
since,
I
have
seen
that
many
favour
the
appearance
of
newness,
gimmicks,
words
that
are
trendy
and
so
on,
rather
than
favouring
the
truly
original,
which
o_en
goes
unrecognised,
as
I
have
indicated.
I
suspect
that
your
author
is
one
such,
one
who
favours
the
appearance
of
the
new.
Look
at
the
occurrence
of
trendy
and
"trending"
words.
In
the
sec4on
wriRen
in
a
form
of
English,
we
have
by
my
count
three
occurrences
of
"issue"and
none
of
problem
although
that
is
clearly
the
meaning
in
two
of
the
occurrences.
US
English
may
be
to
blame
though.
In
this
connec4on,
I
also
have
in
mind
something
I
discussed
in
my
1999
essay
Finding
another
word
for
"experimental"
in
the
magazine
Riding
the
Meridian.
I
remarked
the
use
of
the
word
"experimental"
as
a
descriptor
of
some
poems
without
necessarily
conveying
anything
useful.
There,
I
told
the
story
of
an
author
whose
work
I
declined
to
publish
because
I
could
make
nothing
of
it.
The
author
retorted
that
of
course
I
did
not
understand
because
the
work
was
experimental.
As
I
said
in
the
essay:
“At
no
4me
was
I
told
what
the
poet's
experiment
was
or
what
the
results
of
it
had
been
or
why
that
paRern
of
words
which
he
had
sent
me
should
be
published”.
Over
the
years
since,
I
have
several
4mes
observed,
or
thought
that
I
have
observed,
those
who
have
found
“experimental”
works
which
they
cannot
understand;
and
seem
then
to
have
concluded
that
such
a
difficulty
is
a
sign
of
quality
experimenta4on.
And
they
proceed,
by
imita4on,
to
provide
more
of
the
same,
as
they
see
it.
I
suspect,
if
I
have
been
right,
that
it
is
a
result
of
unmerited
self-‐confidence,
and
a
disregard
for
cra_
and
learning.
I
shall
have
a
liRle
more
to
say
in
that
connec4on.
One
difficulty
I
have
with
the
work
you
have
shown
me
is
its
dic4on.
I'm
15
happy
to
call
that
“vocabulary”
if
preferred:
I
have
found
some
people
don't
like
the
dic4on
of
the
word
“dic4on”.
However,
I
like
to
limit
the
use
of
the
word
“vocabulary”
to
limited
word
sets
from
which
one
writes;
and
I
have
no
problem
with
wri4ng
from
such
a
vocabulary.
In
my
sense
of
vocabulary
as
dic4on,
here,
I
am
talking
about
the
choices
the
author
makes
or
has
made
from
a
whole
set
vocabulary,
all
the
words
available.
The
focus
is
therefore
on
choice
and
the
appropriateness
of
that
choice
in
each
case,
given
its
context.
I
am
also,
therefore,
considering,
amongst
other
things,
the
register
of
the
wri4ng.
And
here
I
am
implicitly
asser4ng
that
poetry
relates
to
the
uRered
or
poten4ally
uRered
word
rather
than
being
a
facet
of
a
printed
text
only.
It
seems
to
me
that
much
wri4ng,
even
poetry,
is
wriRen
to
be
read
silently
rather
than
being
heard.
My
expecta4on,
that
is,
my
desire,
is
for
a
poem
I
receive
to
be
intended
for
audi4on.
This
dis4nc4on
becomes
more
important
than
ever
as
the
transmission
of
digital
text
increases,
though
I
do
not
intend
to
say
more
on
that
here;
but
it
is
a
dis4nc4on
which
has
been
with
us,
of
necessity,
since
wri4ng
began.
Having
clarified
that,
let
me
say
that
I
think
your
author
has
x
poor
sense
of
register.
This
is
not,
contrary
to
a
recent
sugges4on
(Class
and
its
reflec=on
in
the
telling
words
we
speak;
A
Zsibbasztó-‐Koponya,
2014)
that
much
of
a
maRer
of
rela4ve
status
in
society
–
and
therefore
something
depending
from
poli4cal
stasis
–
but
it
is
to
do
with
tone
and
other
modes
of
meaning.
To
be
sure,
power
rela4onships
come
into
it;
but
our
selec4on
of
vocabulary
from
the
pool
theore4cally
available
are
far
more
than
the
rela4onship
of
one
social
class
to
another,
and
are
indica4ve
of
interac4ons
and
interrela4onships
between
individuals.
We
express
aggression
and
kindness
and
sympathy
and
the
lack
of
empathy,
in
great
part,
through
the
dic4on
that
we
employ
to
express
ourselves.
In
this
case
it
is
the
lack
of
varia4on
in
dic4on
which
worries
me
but
contrarily
it
is
a
lack
of
varia4on
from
a
constant
shi_ing
of
dic4on
territory,
if
you
follow
me,
which
seems
to
serve
no
purpose.
16
I
put
this
to
you
as
a
major
worry
in
the
hope
that
it
can
be
corrected
in
this
author
in
the
future
or
perhaps
iden4fied
as
a
major
breakthrough
–
something
that
in
my
perhaps
limited
perspec4ve
I
cannot
see.
I
do
not
wish
here
to
impose
or
even
derive
rules,
but
to
guide
or
else
to
seek
guidance
from
you
or
the
author.
Some
rules
we
may
iden4fy
as
useful,
ensuring
x
that
we
know
how
to
pronounce
similarly
to
each
other
and
therefore
to
be
understood.
And
in
itself
that
useful
conformity
allows
space
for
the
breaking
of
those
very
rules
whether
of
pronuncia4on
or
syntax
or
something
else,
in
order,
one
hopes,
to
create
new
manners
of
meaning.
No,
let
me
say
new
modes
of
meaning.
Manners
are
not
always
good.
And
ambiguity
in
itself
is
not
desirable!
I
recall
a
one
4me
colleague
who
corrected
me
on
my
use
of
the
word
“taste”
when
I
said
to
him
that
a
poem
by
someone
or
other
was
“not
my
taste”.
He
said
“ The
great
man
said
that
we
shouldn't
use
that
word”.
(The
great
man
in
ques4on
was
the
aforemen4oned
Professor
Eric
MoRram,
by
then
deceased
and
unable
to
explain
himself
further.)
What
word?
I
asked
“Taste,”
he
said.
I
had
no
idea
of
the
context
in
which
Eric
was
supposed
to
have
made
the
remark;
but
I
made
what
I
believe
what
was
an
informed
guess
to
explain
what
Eric
might
have
meant:
publicly-‐agreed
terms
about
what
is
considered
tasteful
rather
than
what
I
meant,
personally
liking
and
disliking
x
a
poem
on
grounds
other
than
“taste”.
This
man
would
have
none
of
it:
a
rule
had
been
revealed
and
then
been
broken.
For
every
Christ,
if
Eric
would
indulge
me
by
not
objec4ng
to
the
comparison,
there
will
be
x
Paul,
one
who
takes
the
detail
of
an
uRerance
and
adheres
to
it,
probably
adding
to
it
with
something
of
his
own,
un4l
it
is
an
elaborated
system,
rather
than
taking
the
original
in
the
mode
in
which
it
was
intended.
This
is,
I
think,
akin
to
the
difference
in
quality
of
thought
which
might
be
indicated
by
Coleridge's
dis4nc4on
between
primary
and
secondary
imagina4on
(Biographia
Literaria;
S
T
Coleridge,
1817).
Some
originate
while
17
many
copy.
(I
do
Coleridge
a
disservice
with
my
crude
summary;
but
I
men4on
his
work
only
as
a
guidance
and
not
as
a
strict
reference.)
Unfortunately,
the
many
who
copy,
rather
than
origina4ng,
o_en
also
wish
to
prosely4se
by
extrac4ng
rules
where
there
may
be
liRle
or
no
basis
for
doing
so;
and
such
prosely4sm
may
suggest
that
anyone
can
bring
into
existence
the
poe4cally
true
and
reliable.
The
result
is
that
the
true
and
reliable
in
poetry
are
frequently
misiden4fied.
The
same
happens
with
much
poe4c
achievement.
I
am
told
that
at
a
recent
(2014)
seminar
on
the
late
Bob
Cobbing
it
was
asserted,
without
any
argument
or
evidence
for
one,
that
Cobbing
did
not
intend
his
visual
poems
to
be
used
as
scores
to
be
followed
in
performance.
In
fact,
anyone
making
an
inquiring
study
of
Cobbing
would
know
that
he
did
want
them
to
be
used
that
way;
and
anyone
in
doubt
might
wonder
what
he
was
doing
all
the
4me
he
spent
making
his
poems.
It
was
further
asserted,
I
am
told,
that
he
only
wished
his
poems
to
be
taken
as
star4ng
points
for
improvisa4on.
It
is
true
that
he
did
o_en
improvise
from
his
poems;
and
his
performance
reading
method
was
inherently
improvisatory,
his
poems,
seen
as
scores,
being
indica4ve
rather
than
direc4ve.
That
is
not
the
same
thing
as
what
I
have
been
told
was
said.
For
the
record,
generally,
to
a
greater
or
lesser
extent
he
had
an
idea
of
the
perfect
reading.
I
used
to
chide
him
for
his
neo-‐Platonism
and
he
affected
to
not
understand.
(He
affected
also
not
to
understand
a
thesis
wriRen
on
him
by
cris
cheek,
and
then
produced
a
cut
up
of
that
thesis
which
rather
suggested
that
he
did
understand
rather
well.)
He
aimed
at
something
readable,
a
reading
which
required
aRen4on
and
prac4ce
to
achieve.
Yet
he
also
valued
any
genuine
aRempt
to
make
such
a
reading
and
welcomed
a
variety
of
interpreta4ons,
referring
to
family
resemblance
between
performances,
usually
referring
to
his
own
performance
but
including
others
when
others
obliged...
I
even
saw
him
sit
through
a
performance
in
apparent
amiability
in
the
late
70s
in
Berlin
by
Trio
Ex
Voco
who
wrecked
his
inten4ons
with
great
virtuosity.
Rules
derived
in
encounters
with
a
new
original
approach
do
tend
to
simplify
18
maRers
even
to
the
destruc4on
of
the
author's
inten4on.
When
Cobbing,
I
and
Jennifer
Pike
performed
at
291
Gallery
in
May
2001,
I
was
interviewed
by
a
student
who
asked
for
an
insight
into
the
process
by
which
a
visual
score
was
realised
as
performed
sound.
My
answer
was
interrupted
by
“Can't
you
say
it
simpler?
I
only
want
100
words”.
It
seems
to
be
thought
democra4c
to
make
ideas
“accessible”
to
those
who
do
not
wish
to
make
a
mental
effort
to
understand.
The
result
may
o_en
be
gibberish
wriRen
about
doggerel.
Your
author
writes
such
a
free
verse
that
it
might
be
thought
that
the
term
doggerel
is
inappropriate
to
their
work.
I
do
not
think
so.
She
says
“I
was
happy
at
the
beginning.
That
is,
at
the
beginning
of
all
this.
Mind
you,
I
would
not
have
said
that
I
was
happy
when
I
was
happy
though
I
might
have
said
that
I
was
content.
Since
then
I
have
been
less
than
happy”.
And
so
on.
And
on.
A
free
–
rela4vely
free,
of
course,
of
regularity
–
use
of
rhythm
is
not
an
absence
of
rhythm.
It
may
well
be
harder
to
write
without
fixed
metre
than
with
it;
yet
it
seems
that
some
will
take
it
as
proven
that
anything
will
do.
Obviously,
it
will
be
easier
to
write
if
you
accept
no
constraint
but
con4nue
to
keep
adding
words.
I
pick
that
phrase,
“will
do”,
deliberately.
Who
is
to
say
what
will
and
will
not
do?
There
is
no
especial
arbiter.
Those
who
seek
a
judge
and
rule-‐giver
may
assume
that
what
I
have
just
says
means
that
anything
is
good
enough.
With
nothing
to
judge
against,
they
think,
surely,
they
think,
anything
will
do.
Well,
I
do
not
think
so.
We
could
do
with
thinking
that
has
some
thought
in
it.
The
ar4st
who
says
that
their
work
is
experimental,
invites
the
ques4on:
what
is
the
experiment?
Similarly,
we
might
ask
more
widely
“What
is
the
point
of
making
a
poem
at
all?”
Your
author
asks
just
that
ques4on,
I
believe,
in
their
fourth
sec4on
(El
niño
y
19
el
Dragón);
but
it
is
not
answered.
Perhaps
it
is
unanswerable.
The
ques4on
“¿Cuál
es
el
punto
de
escribir
la
poesía?”
appears
without
any
great
force
to
it
and
just
lies
there
rather
like
a
bubble
on
washing
water.
It
is
not
that
there
is
anything
wrong
with
the
ques4on
so
much
as
in
its
placement.
Simple
language
can
be
very
powerful
and
effec4ve
if
it
is
used
appropriately.
The
words
“I
was
happy”
already
quoted
could
work
well.
As
I
recall,
the
novelist
Edna
O'Brien
built
character
and
narra4ve
from
the
use
of
such
simple
language
(in
The
Country
Girls
and
in
a
few
of
the
immediately
following
novels;
I
have
not
read
later
work
by
her.)
It
takes
cra_
to
work
with
rela4vely
liRle
in
that
way,
except
occasionally
and
intermiRently
when
by
chance.
Just
wri4ng
simply
is
not
enough.
Too
o_en,
I
fear,
the
real
answer
to
the
ques4on
'Why
write
poetry?'
is
“self-‐
expression”;
and
that
is
a
dismal
answer.
Do
we
really
want
to
listen
to
each
other
express
ourselves?
We
probably
do
too
much
of
that
already.
One
might
envy
the
almost
languageless
animals.
How
sad
that
people
think
we
are
interested
in
the
details
of
their
emo4ons
in
a
raw
state.
If
the
ar4st
were
to
ask
themselves
What
am
I
trying
to
do?
now
and
then,
we
might
have
a
more
interes4ng
literature.
When
the
ques4on
is
not
put,
even
by
the
ar4st...
the
author...
the
writer
–
whoever
is
responsible,
and
when
they
s4ll
go
ahead
and
make
more
poetry,
the
chances
are
that
the
effec4ve
mo4va4on
is
in
itself
to
make
another
poem,
ideally
like
poems
that
others
have
seen,
or
perhaps
so
unlike
all
the
others
that
people
will
cry
“Wow!
That's
really
innova4ve”.
In
the
free
market
place,
innova4on
may
o_en
be
the
same
thing
as
already
exists
but
dressed
up
to
appear
new
in
a
market
already
saturated
with
product.
There
is
no
purpose
but
to
sell
more
product
to
sa4sfy
a
need
which
has
already
been
sa4sfied.
Gezng
back
to
the
text
you
have
sent
me,
yes,
I
could
make
sugges4ons
as
to
words
which
might
be
changed
and
so
on;
but
what
would
be
the
point?
Would
it
maRer
much
if
one
just
deleted
some
at
random?
I
ask
because
20
they
appear
to
have
been
wriRen
at
random,
certainly
without
any
over-‐
riding
purpose.
It
seems
to
me
that
the
language
used
here
has
been
sampled
largely
from
the
broadcast
media
as
if
that
were
one
thing,
one
approach,
one
linguis4c
set,
rather
than
a
mixture
of
language
and
language
effluent.
There
are
the
words
of
true
experts
on
various
subjects
and
the
words
of
people
sizng
on
sofas
smiling
at
the
camera.
All
mixed
together.
The
sample
of
language
as
actually
spoken
sought
by
Wordsworth
and
Coleridge
(Lyrical
Ballads;
William
Wordsworth
and
S
T
Coleridge,
1798
&
1800
–
the
second
edi4on
contains
the
preface,
subsequently
expanded)
always
was
a
doub}ul
though
an
exci4ng
idea,
sound
in
its
opposi4on
to
inanity
and
laziness;
but
lacking
itself
in
any
solidity,
which
is
not
true
of
many
of
the
poems,
which
are
o_en
so
strong
as
to
remake
our
recep4vity.
Things
are
worse
now
in
the
language
uRered
by
the
many.
O_en
they
seem
to
imitate
their
suppliers;
and
the
suppliers
sit
on
those
comfy
chairs
facing
a
camera,
talking;
but
what
are
they
talking
about?
The
news
goes
out
24
hours
a
day
and
seven
days
a
week,
but
it
is
inadequate
content
to
fill
such
a
long
4me
span;
so
it
is
repeated.
Bad
food
served
in
large
por4ons.
Sampling
such
wordage
and
no
more
will
hardly
do.
I
am
open
to
approaches;
but
feel
sure
that
sampling
and
framing
randomly
is
not
enough.
I
favour
defying
the
subtext
of
what
is
said.
I
favour
cra_.
Here
I
see
a
text
which
has
no
aim
in
itself
but
to
be
published.
It
aims
to
please
an
ill-‐defined
readership
which
does
not
yet
exist,
is
unlikely
to
exist
and
will
do
none
of
us
any
good
if
it
ever
does
exist.
It
may
well
be
that
it
is
the
product
of
one
who
has
not
yet
worked
enough
at
their
cra_.
In
that
case,
publishing
the
text
will
be
no
use
to
anyone,
including
the
author.
Some
years
ago
I
was
introduced
to
a
poet
I
was
told
was
promising.
We
had
a
polite
awkward
conversa4on
as,
it
seemed
to
me,
we
each
sensed
that
neither
had
much
to
say
to
the
other.
We
kept
talking
because
our
mutual
friends
thought
we
would
enjoy
it.
In
due
course,
I
said
something
–
I
forget
21
what
–
which
upset
the
other,
who
signalled
their
anger
by
declaring
strongly:
“I
have
been
wri4ng
for
four
years”.
Four
years
isn't
very
long
at
all.
I
may
be
that
it
is
long
enough,
but
I
doubt
it.
I
am
reminded
of
the
conversa4on
between
the
Red
Queen
and
Alice
in
Chapter
2
of
Lewis
Carroll's
Through
the
Looking
Glass
in
which
the
Red
Queen
says
it
is
necessary
to
run
faster
than
one
has
been
able
in
order
to
make
progress
(my
words,
not
Carroll's).
Perhaps
the
world
in
which
the
new
author
finds
themselves
is
one
in
which
as
the
Queen
says
“it
takes
all
the
running
YOU
can
do,
to
keep
in
the
same
place.
If
you
want
to
get
somewhere
else,
you
must
run
at
least
twice
as
fast
as
that!'”
I
can
only
offer
the
call
of
Writers
Forum
since
2010:
Ambi4on
for
the
Poetry,
not
the
poet.
And
that
takes
4me,
not
speed.
It
is
sustained
effort
and
openness
to
learning
from
others
which
is
necessary
to
acquire
skill
in
making
Poetry.
I
suspect
that
it
takes
no
longer
to
acquire
the
skill
to
write
passably
than
it
does
to
fake
that
ability.
Usually,
those
who
fake
it
-‐-‐
and
I
do
not
say
that
your
author
is
faking,
but
I
am
suspicious
–
aim
very
high
indeed;
and
the
claims
that
aRend
them
may
be
an
indica4on
of
insincerity,
the
way
that
many
flies
circling
one
place
will
indicate
the
presence
of
a
s4cky
cake.
But
the
fake
can
be
achieved
and
survive
viewing
in
many
lights.
Some
years
back
I
was
publisher
of
one
such
small
volume.
I
encouraged
the
author
and
gave
them
freedom.
I
was
pleased
with
the
result
right
up
un4l
they
began
to
speak
at
its
launch.
Then
I
knew.
It
u4lised
the
vocabulary
of
a
language
I
knew
nothing
of.
That
did
not
worry
me.
As
“sound
poems”
they
seemed
to
me
fine
and
I
took
the
rest
on
faith.
Faith
o_en
misleads.
The
author,
before
their
audience,
looked
at
the
text
and
giggled
uncomfortably
to
themselves
before
saying
“ There
are
some
very
rude
words
in
here”.
The
author
read
very
well.
It
was
an
impressive
performance,
but
for
me
an
22
embarrassing
one.
Things
were
communicated
once
one
understood
the
context
of
“rude
words”.
Rightly,
or
wrongly,
I
heard
a
nasty
tone,
one
that
included
misogyny
and
was
perhaps
something
incipiently
fascis4c.
I
felt
more
than
a
liRle
grubby.
So,
in
such
a
situa4on,
where
it
seemed
no
one
had
been
concerned
by
that
opening
remark,
one
thanks
the
author
for
their
work,
aware
that
one
is
being
used,
providing
a
lis4ng
of
their
name
in
the
records
of
a
press
which
is
well
thought
of.
I
shall
not
labour
this
point
more.
It
is
sufficient,
I
believe,
to
indicate
that
we
might
like
to
think
we
know
what
we
are
reading
but
bias
and
expecta4on
break
through
o_en
without
announcing
themselves.
However,
to
end,
let
me
pick
up
on
that
idea
of
grubbiness.
Your
author
makes
great
use
throughout
the
sec4ons
in
English
of
the
word
“lascivious”,
“en4cing”
and
so
on;
and
in
nearly
all
cases
I
think
they
mean
“ero4c”.
They
speak
of
“licen4ous
intertwinings
and
copula4ons”
when
the
narra4ve,
if
I
read
correctly,
indicates
that
sexual
intercourse
is
taking
place.
Why
licen4ous?
That
word,
here,
worries
me.
I
think
of
D
H
Lawrence's
essay
on
Pornography
and
Obscenity
and
wri4ngs
which
“4ckle
and
excite
to
private
masturba4on”.
Yes,
there
is
wri4ng
like
that,
and
I
have
no
great
problem
with
it
(unlike
DHL),
but
it
is
a
different
purpose
to
the
one
which
engages
me.
I
put
it
in
a
box
with
self-‐expression,
which
is
ok
in
its
place
but
surely
not
the
primary
mo4va4on
for
making
poetry.
Lawrence Upton
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
My problem is that I never write a poem because my
computer does that. So I can propose you only that: "[thl-
Paysages] [thl-Paysages] ([thl-PaysagePhilo]) [thl-mer-01] —
[thl-Paysages] — [thl-lyrique-01] [thl-Paysages] / [thl-
PaysagePhilo] / [thl-Paysages] [thl-Paysages] [thl-Paysages]
[thl-Paysages] [thl-Paysages] ([thl-Paysages]) [thl-Paysages]
[thl-lyrique-01] — [thl-Paysages] — [thl-Paysages] [thl-
Paysages] [thl-mer-01]" which is the program creating an
infinite number of lyrical poems… Say me it is ok for you.
37
38
39
40
A)El primer libro BLANCO xileno era literatura nazi
B)(Silencio en Braile)
C)Esto es un vaso de agua en un desierto @ccidental
41
Dear Felipe,
Here are the additional lines with superscript footnote numerals. The
spacing has been inconsistent:
Naturally,1 plastic prints2 and visible print3 are the nicest4 kinds of
chance5 impressions6 to find.
1 Latent prints
2 These are invisible
3 Provided they are on a smooth surface
4 And being a slob, he'd allowed his fingers to become smeared with something containing color
5 As the definition implies
6 Open to particular scrutiny
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
Joachim Montessuis 1
David Bustos 2
María Paz Vargas 5
Gerardo Pulido 6
Christian Anwandter 7
Angela Rawlings 8
Alan Sondheim 9
Julien Blaine 10
Lawrence Upton 14
Luis Bravo 24
Maja Jantar 25
Anamaría Briede 26
Carlos Almonte 27
Charles Bernstein 28
Philip Davenport 29
Natalia Matzner 30
Tomás Browne 31
Dominga del Campo 32
Cayetano del Villar 33
Guillermo Daghero 34
Luna Montenegro 35
Jörg Piringer 36
Jean-Pierre Balpe 37
Guido Arroyo 38
Martín Gubbins 39
Joshua Liebowitz 40
Jordi Lloret 41
Erica Baum 42
Jennifer McColl 43
Heike Fiedler 44
Paula Dittborn 45
Serkan Ozkaya 47
Nick Thurston 48
Andrea Wolf 50
Felipe Cussen
Information As Material, 2016